As a terrorist who loves the ladies, it is sometimes hard for me to complete my missions. You see, I want to blow myself up in a crowded place, but at the same time I want the sex…
Don’t get me wrong. I joined the cell with every intention of sacrificing myself in the name of Allah. But when I started going to nightclubs and seeing all these unveiled American girls, beautified with cosmetics, I just couldn’t pull the detonator. I would go home with them, and the next morning I would feel very guilty. My boss tasked me with a suicide mission, but I can’t carry it out because I love the puss…
For my first mission, they sent me to a nightclub in LA. I was wearing 20 pounds of Semtex explosives underneath my Ed Hardy shirt. When I started circulating around a girl bumped into me, and she felt my chest. “You must really work out,” she said. “You abs are totally rock hard!”
Ever since then I’ve gone out with the intent of carrying out my mission. I like going to bars and nightclubs, because they are full of shallow, materialistic Americans. But after a couple drinks I am laughing along with the rest of them. Soon, I am the life of the party. I narrow it down to a couple ladies who are giving me signals. I cozy up next to them and whisper in their ears. They admire my stonewashed jeans and gelled hair. I put my hand on their leg. Part of me wants to blow myself up, but part of my just wants to blow my load.
All over their sinful, tattooed lower back.